Even at My Worst I'm Best with You
by marinoa
Summary: Francis tries to get to know his neighbour Arthur with the help of music and creativeness. AU.


_Author's note:_ I wanted to write something light and nice. Hopefully this will cheer someone up!

 **Even at My Worst I'm Best with You**

The first time when Arthur Kirkland met his neighbour Francis Bonnefoy was when he (Arthur) was trying to break into his (Francis') flat.

Well, he wasn't trying to break in per se, not intentionally. He was returning from a social evening, so to speak, one that his good friend Alfred had organised. Consequently, the evening had ended with everyone more or less drunk at two in the morning, and Arthur wasn't an exception. He had managed to find the block-of-flats where he lived, and he had even successfully ended up on the right floor (after riding in the lift up and down for good fifteen minutes or so). Alas, such good fortune couldn't last, and when Arthur tried to stick his key in the lock he didn't realise that the lock was not on his door, but on the one beside it.

He had struggled with the damned lock for a considerable amount of time when he heard a voice behind his back.

"Need any help with that?"

Arthur, leaning against the door, looked over his shoulder to see a man with long, blond hair standing with his arms crossed over his chest. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Francis," the man said, looking something between amused and unimpressed.

Arthur uttered an incomprehensible sound that was probably meant as an affirmative, and rolled out of the way, so Francis could step forward. He pulled out Arthur's key and calmly handed it to him, then inserted his own key in the lock and turned it. The lock gave a click and the door opened.

"How did you do that?" Arthur asked in awe.

"Magic," Francis answered and entered the flat, turning to add before closing the door, "I suggest you try the door on the left."

Arthur complied, and so he went to bed happy to have proven that magic exists.

The next day, he woke up with a terrible hangover, a suffocating feeling of shame, and an overwhelming desire to exterminate his next-door neighbour, who evidently saw it fit to welcome the new day by playing the song 'Hangover' on top volume at some godless hour in the morning.

And so it began – the daily music attacks. From that day on, Bonnefoy seemed to acquire a new hobby: he began playing music, loudly, just to annoy Arthur. No, this wasn't just Arthur's subjective deduction; he knew for a fact that Bonnefoy was doing it on purpose. At a random times of day, suddenly a song would start playing at top volume, accompanied by the Frenchman's loud singing along. And only one song – then, silence again, until the next day and the new song.

For the first couple of days, Arthur ignored his neighbour. However, as soon as he realised what Bonnefoy was doing, he began responding accordingly. As the walls appeared to be made of paper for all their soundproofing capacities, Arthur didn't dare banging them with his hammer, but settled for a broomstick instead. But then he discovered that it was too bothersome to go find the proper tool every time Francis began his yodelling, so he did the same as his neighbour: used his voice. Whenever Bonnefoy would attack with his daily song, Arthur responded with admirably colourful, if not entirely polite, language.

(The Englishman would never admit it, but in truth, maybe, just a little bit, once in a blue moon, when Francis sang from the top of his lungs, the corners of Arthur's lips would tug up into a small smile, which he would hide with a book or a tea mug even from himself. And if he happened to pass Francis in the hallway, he might have, sometimes, answer his greeting with a tiny grin. But only sometimes very rarely. If even then.)

Some days, it was Adele. " _Hello. It's me._ "

Or Bon Jovi. " _Shot through the heart, and you're to blame._ "

Or Edith-fucking-Piaf. " _Non, je ne regrette rien_ _._ "

Today, it was The Rembrandts.

Arthur was just in the middle of his second mug of tea and a very engaging book about dragons, betrayal, and deaths of every character whom he even remotely liked, when suddenly the annoying intro of 'Friends' invaded his small flat.

"Fuck no," Arthur groaned and sunk into the pillows of his sofa. "GO SAVE ME THE TROUBLE AND STRANGLE YOURSELF IN A DITCH, BONNEFOY!"

Predictably, Bonnefoy did no such thing. Instead, he began singing.

" _I wonder if my neighbour likes it when I sing._

 _H_ _is brows are so_ _big_ _that_ _it makes it hard to think._ "

Wait. Those were not the lyrics. Had that damned Frog really gone and made a mock song about Arthur? The _audacity_ -

" _H_ _e always yells_ _at me_ _but_ _damn_ _he's_ _hot,_

 _though I must admit that eyebrows on his face_ _really_ _are not._ "

The well-considered string of profanities withered in Arthur's throat before he managed to yell them out. What the fuck?

" _B_ _ut_

 _I'll be there for him,_

 _if his eyebrows attack._

 _I'll be there for him,_

 _I'll force his armour to crack._

 _I'll be there for him,_

 _'cause his brows must be tamed._ "

This – this was outrageous! Arthur dropped his book without even bothering to put a bookmark. This was definitely one of those days when the broomstick was needed. Or the hammer. On Bonnefoy's head, preferably.

Meanwhile, Francis continued.

" _Have I got your attention_ _with this_ _little_ _song?_

 _You burned you lunch so I can smell that you're at home._

 _Oh Arthur, how I wish you didn't cook,_

 _didn't try to make scones, roast beef, fish and chips, or even some soup._ "

" _I'll be there for you,_

 _I'll make you food from now on._

 _I'll be there for you,_

 _that's a favour for us all._

 _I'll be there for you,_

 _to make sure that you won't cook._ "

All right. Francis' days were numbered. If the Frog wanted go down with a song about Arthur on his lips, why, it suited the Englishman perfectly well. With his faithful broomstick in his hand, he briskly walked to his door. Time to address the problem face to face.

But before he could throw the door open, the song continued, making him halt.

" _No one I've met is like you._

 _No one has eyes like you do._

 _Despite the lyrics of this song_

 _I'd like to learn to know you._

 _You needn't try to break in,_

 _'cause I'm inviting you in._

 _Of all the people I know_

 _you're the only one who's worth a song, yeah!_ "

What? Just, _what_? Involuntarily Arthur felt his cheeks flush. Was that another form of mockery? Yes, it must be, why would Arthur even think otherwise? But. Still.

On the other side of the wall, Bonnefoy went on.

" _I know you've got your broomstick somewhere near,_

 _and you just might use it on my door or head, but I have no fear._

 _I'll be there for you,_

 _I will_ _do this with tact._

 _I'll be there for you,_

 _I'll take you out, that's a fact._

 _I'll be there for you,_

 _will you go out with me?_ "

The music died, leaving Arthur stare at his broomstick – or glare, really – and then at the door, and again at his broomstick. Then he finally threw his door open and strode to over Francis', giving a good kick on the door. "Frog!"

Francis opened it immediately and regarded Arthur with a smirk. "Oh, Arthur." His eyes moved down and he laughed. "And the good old broomstick, I see. I've been waiting to meet it in person. How do you do?"

Arthur flushed again and tightened his grip on the said item. "Are you out of our mind?" he demanded, piercing his neighbour with the most fiery glare he could muster.

Francis only smiled in response. "I must be."

Such a disarming response left Arthur quite bewildered, and all his anger left him in an instant. "Oh," was all he could say to that.

"So, Arthur," Francis continued, and there was a funny _something_ in his eyes that made Arthur's belly all ticklish inside. "Would you like to come in? I'm just putting my chocolate chip biscuits in the oven, they'll be ready in no more than ten minutes."

"Er. I. Sure." Baffled, Arthur looked at the broomstick in his hands. "I'll just... drop this off at home."

"Why, there's no need to," Francis said, that funny twinkle never leaving his eyes. "There's plenty of biscuits for all the three of us."

That finally elicited a smile from Arthur. "Good," he said. "Because there was something in your song that my friend here would like to comment."

Francis smiled sweetly. "Something about taking you out perhaps?"

Arthur's smile was even sweeter. "Something about my eyebrows, I believe."

In the end, Arthur did let Francis take him on a date. And Francis continued making up songs about Arthur... but never (except for one ballad that we shall not speak of) did he touch in them the subject of Arthur's eyebrows again.

X

 _Note:_ _The song in the fic is obviously I'll Be there for You by The Rembrandts. I only modified the lyrics a little._


End file.
